Passing Through
by PollyVictorian
Summary: A WHN/spin-off from 'Death Bait'. Remember the drifter whose camp Jelly stumbled into? What happened to him after Jelly "borrowed" his horse? And who was he, anyhow?
1. Chapter 1

Dougal Renslo needed to get his horse back.

That was the reason he was doing this, he told himself, as he trudged across the fields, heading towards the glow on the horizon that was a dying fire. Whatever trouble was going on over there was none of his business and the well-being of the old man who had 'borrowed' his horse was none of his concern.

Hell of a nerve, the old fellow had, walking into Dougal's camp in the middle of the night and coolly stating that he needed to borrow Dougal's horse. Dougal had pulled his gun out automatically when the man first appeared, but it had only taken a moment to see that his late night visitor posed no threat. In fact, the old guy had seemed agitated, frightened. Dougal had felt sorry for him, given him a cup of coffee, tried to soothe him down a little. He'd said something about trouble at a neighbouring ranch; apparently he wanted to get away, and quickly. Dougal had been a little surprised. His visitor didn't look like the kind who'd be involved in any sort of evil-doing. But he must have gotten mixed up in it somehow and now was desperate to get away. So desperate that, when flames appeared on the ridge above, he had pulled his gun on Dougal and told him he was taking the horse. Dougal wasn't going to argue with a loaded gun, so he'd resignedly saddled the horse and handed it over. Then he'd had the real surprise. The old man, with a quick 'thank you', had mounted the horse and ridden off _towards _the fire. Dougal had misjudged him. He wasn't running away from the trouble; he must have been trying to fetch help.

So now Dougal Renslo was slogging across the fields in the dark with his bedroll and gear slung across his back, stumbling on the uneven ground and worrying about what he would find when he reached this ranch. Lancer, hadn't the old boy called it? Bad trouble to start with, culminating in a fire. And only one old man, it seemed, to deal with it. He'd need help, that's for sure, and somehow Dougal couldn't bring himself to walk away and leave him. Besides, he told himself again, he really did have to get his horse back.

He trod in a cow pat and cursed.

* * *

At the Lancer ranch, Teresa was insisting on rebandaging Murdoch's eyes.

"You need to rest them, Murdoch, let them heal properly. Jelly will go for the doctor when it gets light and we'll see what he says but meantime, there's no point in taking chances. And you should go to bed."

"You should get some sleep yourself, darling, it's been a hard night," Murdoch fussed in his turn.

"I got a little sleep earlier," she answered. "It'll be daylight soon and the chores have to be done. We don't want Scott and Johnny gloating if they come back and find we haven't been able to manage properly while they were gone." Bless her, thought Murdoch, knowing her efforts to get things back to comfortable normality stemmed mostly from her concern for him.

Closer than many a father and daughter, were these two. There had been a time, after Teresa's father had been killed and before Murdoch had been reunited with his sons, when all they had was each other: Teresa, left alone in the world after the death of the father who had been all-in-all to her, and Murdoch, barely alive after getting shot in the back, facing the possibility of being crippled for life, his closest friend dead, the gulf between himself and his sons too wide, as he believed then, ever to be breached and the ranch he had spent half his life building up about to be taken from him by the man who had put the bullet in his back. The need to look after the god-daughter left to his care had been one of the things which had kept him going. And Teresa, instead of letting herself be swamped by grief, had given a daughter's care and love to the one person left to her.

And still, even with Scott and Johnny now both sons and partners to Murdoch, and as good as brothers to Teresa, the bond forged between the rancher and the young girl held. It would hold for life.

Teresa went to the kitchen to make some fresh coffee. Jelly would be glad of it when he got back. Not a word had been said by any of them when he left the house but she knew he had gone to bury Gannett's body. A lawman turned murderer, Gannett's tale of how he had been left to die, and what he had had to do to survive, had made her blood run cold. She understood his desire for revenge but Jelly had had no part in those terrible actions and when she and Murdoch together had fired the gun, it had been the only thing to do. She knew it had been the only thing to do. Even so, thinking back to it now ... Teresa dashed out of the kitchen, crossed the yard to the muck heap and was very, very sick.

* * *

Dougal reached the ranch just after sun-up. He was relieved to see that although the remains of an outbuilding were smouldering, the main house, a sprawling white hacienda, was intact and unharmed. He was also relieved to see his horse in the corral. The old man had obviously got back safely and things must be settled enough for him to have unsaddled and looked after his 'borrowed' mount. Dougal would find him and make sure everything was alright, then be on his way.

"Hello there!" he called. The old man stepped out of the barn, clearly alarmed.

"Who's there?" he shouted. "Stay back!"

"Whoa, friend, it's only me," Dougal soothed him. Poor old fellow was still a bunch of nerves. "Just come to get my horse back, if you've finished with him." The old man relaxed visibly.

"Well, now, I'm real glad you're here. I was goin' to bring your horse back just as soon as I could. I'm real sorry about pullin' that gun on you, I'm no horse thief, but I had to get back here to take care of things." The old man really did look sorry.

"Ah, that's alright, I can see you've had some trouble," Dougal answered, looking towards the burnt-out shed. "Anybody hurt?"

"Mr Lancer's eyes got burnt," the old man replied. "He can see again now, but I'm going for the doctor just as soon as I get the stock fed."

Dougal thought the old man looked fit for nothing but going to bed, but he just said,

"Maybe I can give you a hand with that. My name's Dougal Renslo, by the way," he added, extending his hand.

"Jellifer B. Hoskins," the old man introduced himself, with a rather grand air, shaking Dougal's hand. "I wouldn't say no to some help, just seein' as how I need to get done quick and go into town for the doctor. And I'm sure Mr Lancer would be pleased to have you stay to breakfast."

"That sounds like a fair trade to me," smiled Dougal as he followed Mr Jellifer B. Hoskins into the barn.

Dougal quickly got the barn cattle fed and watered and the stalls cleaned out, his new friend doing his best to share the load but clearly tired out although striving to cover his fatigue. The two men were coming out of the barn when a woman's voice called,

"Jelly! Leave the chores, I'll finish off later. Come and get some breakfast!"

A young woman was coming out of the house. She stopped as she saw Dougal, wariness on her face. Whatever had happened here last night, it had sure left the folks nervous, thought Dougal. But his companion was saying,

"Chores are all done, no need to worry. And Teresa, I'd like you to meet Mr Dougal Renslo. He was good enough to lend me his horse last night, so I could get back here." He glanced at Dougal anxiously but Dougal wasn't going to start telling tales about the shotgun. "He came to get his horse and helped me just to finish off in the barn."

"How do you do, ma'am," said Dougal, taking off his hat.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr Renslo," she replied. "Won't you come in for breakfast?" There was still a touch of caution about her, it seemed to Dougal, but her smile was pleasant and her hospitality ready.

"Don't mind if I do. Thank you," Dougal answered. He followed her and Jellifer B. Hoskins – Jelly – into the kitchen.

A man was sitting at the table, a bandage covering his eyes. He looked weary and strained.

"Boss, this is Dougal Renslo," Jelly introduced him. "Dougal, this is Mr Lancer, the owner of the ranch. Mr Renslo helped me get back in time last night," he explained to the man.

"Mr Renslo lent Jelly a horse," Teresa added.

"We're grateful, Mr Renslo. Won't you join us for breakfast?" The rancher seemed less nervy than Jelly and Teresa.

"Thank you, sir," Dougal replied, sitting down. Teresa dished out ham and eggs and poured coffee. Dougal ate appreciatively; the walk to the ranch had given him an appetite.

"I'll just have this, then I'll be headin' into town and get the doctor for you, Boss," Jelly stated, eating quickly.

"Isn't there anyone else around for you to send?" queried Dougal. "Seems to me there'd be more hands around on a ranch this size." He was thinking that Jelly was in no fit state to be riding anywhere.

"My sons and most of the ranch hands are taking a herd of cattle to the railhead," Murdoch Lancer explained. "They'll be back tonight."

"But you don't want to be waiting until tomorrow for the doc to check them eyes o' yours," Jelly declared.

"Jelly's right," agreed Teresa, but she was looking worriedly at Jelly, obviously thinking the same as Dougal.

"Well, now, I'm on my way to Morro Coyo. Got a little business there," said Dougal. "I can stop by the doctor's office, let him know he's needed out here. Save you the trip, Jelly. I know you won't want to be leaving Mr Lancer and Miss Teresa alone more than need be. They're obviously depending on you."

He's sized up Jelly's character, thought Murdoch. Although he couldn't see his visitor's face, he could detect the touch of humour behind his voice. Jelly wouldn't, though.

"That would be wonderful, if you could do that, Mr Renslo," said Teresa, relief in her voice. "You're right, we do need Jelly here." Teresa knew Jelly's pride, too.

"It would be no trouble at all, Miss Teresa," Dougal assured her, thinking that for the grateful smile she was giving him, nothing on earth would be too much trouble. "I'll be getting along right away, if Jelly'll show me where he's stowed my saddle." He rose from the table.

"We're grateful to you once again, Mr Renslo," said Murdoch, extending his hand.

"Glad I can be of help, Mr Lancer," replied Dougal, and he meant it. He had to admire Murdoch Lancer – most men would be quivering wrecks if their sight was threatened, but he was calm, steady and still courteous to a guest. It felt good to shake his hand. As for Miss Teresa, any man would feel it was a privilege to help her any way he could, thought Dougal. And Jelly – well, somehow he just couldn't help liking the old guy.

"You seem to have stumbled across a good friend, Jelly," remarked Teresa as they watched Dougal ride away.

"Strange, but he puts me in mind o' someone," said Jelly thoughtfully. "Can't quite put my finger on who, though."


	2. Chapter 2

Dougal found the doctor's office in Morro Coyo easily enough and gave his message. The doctor set off for the ranch right away and Dougal went into the saloon where he ordered a drink and sat down at a table to think out his next move. He needed to look around, listen, ask questions. Trouble was, his mind kept straying back to that ranch. Seemed like there'd be no hands back until late in the day or into the evening. And meantime there would be work to do. Dougal had worked as a ranch hand – heck, he'd worked as just about everything, one way or another – and he knew that even with most of the stock out at pasture, there was always something needing to be done. He pictured Jelly forcing himself to keep going, maybe having an accident because he was so tired. Or Miss Teresa trying to do the chores herself and tackling more than a woman could handle. And Murdoch Lancer worrying about them both, fretting, and doing his eyes more harm.

He wished he could stop thinking about them. Dougal had a task of his own to be getting on with, and he'd already helped them out enough. He had friends who said he was too soft-hearted for his own good; maybe they were right. He could almost hear his sister-in-law's words, "I declare, Dougal, if flies landed on your biscuits, you'd share the butter with them!" He smiled at the memory. Betsy, dead now these three years or more, along with his brother Ewan and their kids – all the family he'd had.

Dougal had been in Oregon when they died. Happier on the move, he'd always resisted Ewan's urgings to stay and work the farm with him, preferring to take any job that offered a chance to see somewhere new but generally he got back to see Ewan and Betsy and the kids once or twice a year. They were his only family and despite his wanderlust, they meant a lot to him.

When he'd returned to the farm that last time, instead of Ewan's warm welcome, Betsy's sisterly fussing and the kids clambering all over him, eager to see what presents Uncle had brought, there had been nothing but the blackened walls of the burnt-out cabin. The neighbours' sympathy, genuine and generous though it was, couldn't ease the desolation he'd felt when he realized there was no-one left to him, not one person in the world he could call his kin.

Not one? Well, perhaps there was just one. It was nothing certain Dougal had heard, just vague talk, but it had been enough to start him on a search for the man who could tell him whether he still had one living relative or really was alone in the world. He knew he was probably grasping at a straw but likewise he knew he wouldn't be able to rest until he'd found out.

He'd almost given up more than once. He had so little to go on that by any standards of common sense the quest was hopeless. But just often enough, he'd pick up something that would keep him going, keep him on the trail. The last clue he had got had led him here, to the San Joaquin Valley and the town of Morro Coyo. And now he needed to get on with his search, not be worrying about how Jelly and Miss Teresa and Murdoch Lancer were going to manage. He'd done his part there. Those folks weren't his responsibility, after all.

Dougal finished his drink and left the saloon. He retrieved his horse from the corral, mounted up and headed out of town, back towards the Lancer ranch.

* * *

When he got to Lancer, things were about how he'd pictured. Teresa, alone, was trying to herd a dozen straying cattle back into a pen. On horseback, he made quick work of it and she closed the gate, fastening it with twine to make good the broken catch that had enabled the cattle to get out.

"Thank you, Mr Renslo." There was more than just pleasant courtesy in her voice, there was relief. She was thankful to see him.

"Where's Jelly?" he queried.

"Fast asleep. He could barely stand up so I persuaded him to have a little nap, just for a few minutes," she told him.

"And that was a couple hours ago, I'm guessing?" he said with a quirk of the eyebrow. Teresa nodded.

"What about your father? How is he?" Dougal asked.

Teresa looked puzzled for a moment, then said, "Oh, Mr Lancer's not my father, he's my guardian. Dr Jenkins is with him now. I think he'll be alright, he could see when we took the bandages off for a while last night, but we don't want to take any chances."

"You sure don't, not with a man's eyesight," agreed Dougal. He could see the anxiety on her face, despite her confident words.

"I'll keep an eye on things out here," he went on. "You go on back to the house, see what the doctor's got to say. He'll likely want to give you some instructions about taking care of Mr Lancer."

"That's good of you, Mr Renslo. If you're sure it's no trouble…" Teresa responded, her deep-ingrained courtesy warring with her obvious wanting to accept the offer.

"Oh, this is as good a place to be as any." Dougal smiled as he said the words and Teresa smiled back at him. That smile and the gratitude in her eyes as, with another quick "Thank you," she turned and hurried into the house made Dougal think that this was the best place he could possibly be.

Dougal led his horse into the corral. Strange, there didn't seem to be any other horses on the place. Maybe they'd been spooked by the fire last night; that would explain why Jelly had been trying to get to town on foot. Well, the ranch hands would round them up when they got back, if that was the case. In the meantime, he could find things to do, he was sure. He'd start by fixing that broken catch. He jumped as a goose squawked behind him. The creature flapped its wings and hissed as he turned to look at it. All sorts of livestock they've got on this ranch, thought Dougal.

* * *

The sun was setting as Scott and Johnny rode back onto Lancer land and headed towards the hacienda.

"Think Murdoch'll be worrying about us?" Johnny asked his brother.

"Murdoch knows all sorts of things can delay a cattle drive. He'll know there's no need to worry," Scott answered.

"Think he will, anyway?" persisted Johnny.

Scott grinned. "Yes."

Johnny grinned back. After a moment he said, "Kinda nice, ain't it?"

"Little brother, we're going to have to do something about that grammar of yours," Scott returned, assuming what he hoped was a stern expression. Then the smile returned to his face. "Yes, it is kind of nice," he agreed.

It did feel good to have a father's care and concern but Johnny's words had triggered the puzzlement that still nested in Scott's mind. The puzzlement that came from trying to reconcile the care and concern he now got from Murdoch Lancer with the twenty-four years of neglect that had gone before. He wondered if he ever would understand or if that mystery would remain for all time.

Scott's thoughts were snapped back to the immediate moment as Remmie jumped and reared, dancing back in fear from a dark shape that had leaped snarling onto the trail in front of them. Barranca was doing the same but as the snarling turned into a savage bark there came the report of Johnny's gun. The bark became a yelping howl and the shape lay still on the ground.

"What is it?" Scott asked as he walked Remmie in a circle to calm him.

"Looks like that wolf cross-breed we saw in the saloon," Johnny answered. "Must have run off from that feller who had it."

"Well, I'm afraid I'll be offering him no condolences on the loss of his little pet," Scott declared. "Things like that we do not want jumping out at us – or wandering around amongst the Lancer stock."

"That's for sure," Johnny agreed.

They rode on, giving the carcass a wide berth. They'd only gone another half mile when Johnny pulled Barranca to a halt and pointed. "Scott, look! It's Toby!"

Murdoch's horse was grazing a couple of hundred yards from the trail. Johnny unwound the rope from his saddle horn and rode towards him. The big horse made no resistance to being lassoed and followed along easily behind Barranca as Johnny rejoined Scott.

"Wonder how he got out here?" Johnny mused.

"No saddle or bridle – he must have got out of the corral and wandered off," observed Scott.

Johnny frowned. "Scott, I'm worried."

"What about? How many pieces Jelly's going to be in when Murdoch finds out Toby's gotten loose? Especially if it was that watchdog goose of Jelly's that frightened him," Scott grinned. Johnny shook his head.

"I've got a feeling there's more to it than just a horse getting loose," he murmured.

"Why should there be?" retorted Scott.

"If it was any other horse, no, but Toby? You know how Murdoch takes care of him. And there was that wolf-dog…" Johnny's voice trailed off.

"No reason to think there's any connection," Scott returned, "unless maybe that thing was prowling around the corral and spooked the horse. It's dead now, anyway. Come on," he added, seeing his brother was still unhappy, "let's get back to the ranch and ease your mind." He urged Remmie into a trot and Johnny followed, Toby happily following behind his stablemates.

They were nearing the hacienda when Scott caught a whiff of something, faint but distinct.

"Johnny, do you smell anything?"

"No," his brother sniffed the air. "Or, wait, yeah, smells like… "

"Like something's been burning," Scott finished grimly. Without need for further words the brothers spurred their horses and headed at top speed towards the ranch house.


	3. Chapter 3

Scott disciplined his panic as he and Johnny covered the remaining distance to the hacienda. As they came within sight of the ranch buildings he made a swift assessment – the blackened remains of the storage shed explained the lingering aroma of burnt timber but he saw thankfully that none of the other buildings appeared to be damaged. His relief increased as he saw Jelly coming out of the barn. There was another man with him that Scott didn't recognize but although the old wrangler looked unusually sombre, there was no urgency about the way he came up to meet them. Whatever had happened, things must be under control now.

Johnny pulled Barranca to a halt and jumped down. "Jelly, what's going on? What happened?" he demanded.

"No need to worry, Johnny," Jelly assured him. "We had a little trouble last night but everything's alright now, 'cepting we lost the storage shed. And boys, this is Dougal Renslo, he kindly came along to help us out. Dougal," Jelly turned to his companion, "this is Scott Lancer and Johnny Lancer." He indicated each of the brothers in turn.

"Howdy," Dougal greeted them.

"Hello," Scott returned. "You have our thanks." The fellow must have seen the fire and come to help, he supposed. He wondered briefly where he'd come from but was more thankful that there'd been an extra pair of hands when they must have been needed.

Johnny also nodded a brief greeting to Dougal then looked over at the almost empty corral, Dougal's horse the only animal there.

"Where are the horses? They get spooked by the fire?" he asked Jelly.

"Well, no, not exactly," Jelly hedged. "We'll go round 'em up tomorrow, when the rest of the men get back. Glad you found old Toby, though," he added, taking hold of the rope around the big horse's neck. "Your Pa'll be pleased he's safe and sound."

"Where is Murdoch?" Scott asked.

"He's inside," Jelly answered, "but before you go in," he added as Scott turned towards the house, "there's something you gotta know…"

"What?" Johnny snapped, springing back onto the alert.

"Now there's nothing to worry about, everything's going to be alright," Jelly began, but Johnny interrupted him.

"Jelly, will you quit saying that and just tell us what happened!" he demanded once again.

"Yes, Jelly, what exactly is it we need to know?" Scott put the question in what Johnny called his "officer voice". Jelly's words had triggered off his own anxiety again and he wanted to know the answer, quickly. But Jelly still prevaricated.

"It was me he was after," he told them, the distress evident in his voice and his face. "He got here just before sundown and bushwhacked me and Murdoch but like I said…"

"Who bushwhacked you?" Johnny jumped in again. "And do you mean Murdoch's been hurt?" He looked like he wanted to shake Jelly and Scott felt like he wanted to join him but just then the hacienda door opened and Teresa came out, running towards them.

"Here's Teresa, we'll get a straight story from her," declared Scott. He walked across to meet her but as she neared him, what he saw made him more worried still. The smiling welcome she always had for him and Johnny when they got home was there but the smile barely hid the strain on her face and it was obvious that the welcome held a large measure of relief.

Scott strode up and put his arm around her and for a moment she dropped her head onto his shoulder. Just for a moment, then she stood straight and steady again, but the action told him more than any words could. Teresa was no fluttering Boston miss, she had a Western woman's matter-of-fact sturdiness. Whatever had made her need to lean on his brotherly strength for that moment would be no small matter. He would find out what it was, right now.

"Come on, let's go inside," he turned to Johnny but his brother was already striding towards the hacienda. He'd seen the look on Teresa's face, too.

"Murdoch!" Johnny called as they entered the house.

"In here, Johnny," Murdoch Lancer's voice came from the Great Room. Scott and Johnny plunged into the room then both abruptly halted as they saw their father seated in an armchair with a bandage covering his eyes. Scott felt a sickening dread grip him; a glance at Johnny told him his brother was feeling the same. Then Teresa's voice beside him was saying, "Don't worry, Doctor Jenkins says he'll be fine, he just needs to rest," and Murdoch was adding his own reassurances, "Just some hot ashes in the face, a few days and I'll be as good as new."

Scott's gaze took in the boarded up pane in the French door leading to the patio.

"I think, sir, that I'd like to hear exactly what's been happening," he said to his father. "And I think Johnny would like to hear, too," he added.

"You bet I want to know," Johnny declared. "You're sure you're gonna be alright, Murdoch?"

"Yes, Johnny," his father smiled. "Sit down and I'll tell you the whole story."

"I'll bring some coffee," Teresa said. Scott squeezed her shoulder and she smiled up at him before whisking out to the kitchen. Scott sat down on the sofa and Johnny perched on the arm of the other chair.

"Now, how much did Jelly tell you," Murdoch began…

* * *

Outside, Dougal and Jelly took care of the horses.

"Mostwise, of course, the boys would tend their own horses, but they're anxious about their daddy," Jelly explained to Dougal.

"When you've got family, they come first," Dougal agreed.

Jelly, when he'd woken mid-afternoon, had greeted Dougal with a simple, "Much obliged to you," but Dougal was beginning to get his new friend's measure. Jelly might not admit to needing a favour but that didn't mean he didn't appreciate it. The two men had worked together for what remained of the day, doing the needed chores including boarding up the broken window. It was obvious to Dougal that a gun had caused the damage but he said nothing. Whatever the trouble had been, it was over now and he didn't feel the need to go snooping into other people's business.

Mr Lancer's sons were back now; the family would be alright. Dougal would stay overnight – Jelly had shown him a spare bed in the bunkhouse – and be on his way in the morning. Before he left, though, he thought he might as well ask the Lancers if they knew anything that might help him in his search. Mr Lancer, or Jelly, or one of the Lancer sons may have heard of the man he was looking for. A big ranch like this, they'd know a lot of people, would hear a lot of news. He'd ask them at supper.

* * *

"So Jelly will be blaming himself, I'm sure, even though none of it was his fault," Murdoch Lancer concluded his story.

"And Doc Jenkins is sure your eyes are gonna be alright?" persisted Johnny.

"Yes, it's just the eyeball surface that's got burnt off. Sam says it will grow back in a few days, I just need to keep my eyes covered and let them heal," Murdoch assured him again.

Scott smiled to himself. He was remembering Johnny's words on the ride back, about their father worrying. Which one was doing the worrying now?

"Actually, Doctor Jenkins said Murdoch should have complete rest for at least a week," Teresa put in.

"That might be a challenge," Scott remarked drily, "keeping Murdoch Lancer still for a whole week!"

"He's gonna do it, though, if I have to sit on him!" declared Johnny.

"That's probably what it will take," was Scott's rejoinder.

"Supper will be ready in a few minutes," Teresa stated. "I'll call Jelly and Mr Renslo in."

"No, I'll go," Johnny offered. "I'll have a word with Jelly, make sure he's not being stupid and feeling guilty about things. Like you said, none of it was his fault." He rose and went outside.

"I'm looking forward to meeting this Dougal Renslo properly," Scott remarked as Johnny left the room. "Sounds like we owe him our thanks on a few counts."

"We certainly do, Scott," Murdoch concurred. "I hope we have a chance to repay him somehow."

* * *

They ate supper at the big table in the ranch kitchen, Dougal savouring the home-cooked meal appreciatively.

"Only beef stew," Teresa had half-apologised as she dished it up.

"It's the best supper I've had in quite a while, Miss Teresa," Dougal had told her and it was true. His meals the last couple of months had been the offerings dished up in cheap boarding houses or his own camp cooking. The rich stew, served with pitchers of fresh milk, was a treat.

Even better than the food, thought Dougal, was eating in a home, with a family. Well, he supposed they weren't all family. Miss Teresa wasn't a blood relative of the Lancers, from what she'd said earlier, and Jelly was a ranch hand – he called Mr Lancer 'Boss' – although they treated him like one of the family. Probably he'd worked on the ranch for years. Dougal didn't know what Johnny had said to Jelly when he'd pulled him aside earlier but it seemed to have put the old man's mind at rest. He seemed at ease now, more than he had been all day. Dougal was pleased. Somehow, in the short time he'd known Jelly, he'd gotten real fond of the old guy.

The talk was mostly of the cattle drive.

"No, there was no real problem, just lots of little things that made for delay," Scott was telling his father. "The herd wasn't at Spring Rock when we got there – a few of the beeves had strayed off and it took time for the men to get them back. Then the cattle managed to break through one of the fences in the holding yard at the railhead and had to be rounded up." Scott paused and took a swallow of milk. "We got them all loaded eventually – Mr Butler sends you his best regards, by the way. Then on the way back, Carlos' horse threw a shoe.

"We weren't far from Spanish Wells by then so Carlos decided to take the horse there to get re-shod. The other men decided to go along with him." Scott grinned. "I think they considered they'd earned a beer or two by then and I wouldn't disagree. Johnny and I came on back to let you know how things went."

"It'll be our turn for the beer tomorrow night," Johnny added.

"And well-deserved too," his father smiled. "But tonight we'll make do with some coffee in the living room." He stood up and Johnny, Scott and Teresa all jumped to his side to lend a guiding hand. Johnny got the privilege this time and Dougal smiled as he watched the father and son walking together. It did feel good to be around a family again.

There was a small fire burning in the fireplace, just enough to ward off the chill of the early fall evening. When they had all settled into the chairs around it, Scott spoke.

"So, Dougal, tell us, what brings you to this neck of the woods? If there's anything we can help with, we'd be glad to. We certainly owe you a favour. If you're looking for work, we can help with that, I'm sure. Or if you're looking for a good poker game, I can tell you to stay away from Johnny," he grinned.

"Hey, just because you lost the last game!" protested his brother. "But Scott's right," he added to Dougal, "Murdoch told us how you helped out and if there's anything we can do in return, we'd be happy to."

"Well, as a matter of fact, I'm hoping you might be able to help with something," Dougal answered. "There's someone I'm looking for. Last I heard tell, he was somewhere around Morro Coyo. Have any of you heard of an old man, travelling around with a bunch of kids? He never seems to stay in one place for long, but I'm hoping he might still be around here."

Everyone in the room grew still. Dougal was startled as he looked from one closed, grim face to the other. It was Johnny who broke the silence.

"Why do you want him?" he demanded.


	4. Chapter 4

Dougal met Johnny's gaze steadily. He was startled and a little bewildered at everyone's reaction but he had nothing to hide, after all, so it seemed to him that the best thing was just to answer Johnny's question directly.

"I'm hoping he might know something of my nephew," he replied. Again there was silence for a second then Teresa jumped in.

"We're being silly. Dougal has nothing to do with Gannett, how could he?"

"Well, o' course he don't!" Jelly declared. "You'll just have to excuse us, Dougal, we're all a little jumpy right now," he apologized. "But you've helped us and we'll help you any way we can."

"Let's hear his story, first," insisted Johnny, still wary.

"Yes, let's," Murdoch. His tone was serious but without the challenge Johnny's voice had held.

"Is your nephew one of those kids?" Scott went straight in.

"I'm hoping he is," Dougal answered. "I don't know. It's only a chance and maybe I'm a fool for hoping but…" He dropped his head for a moment, then looked up again, "but I've got to find out. He's the only kin I have."

"Tell us the story, Dougal." Murdoch Lancer's voice was kind now. Dougal looked at the faces around him. It was sympathy he saw; Johnny still a little cautious maybe, and Jelly wearing a strange expression Dougal couldn't really fathom, but it seemed they did know something about the man he was looking for and he felt they really would be willing to help. These were people he could trust.

He drew a deep breath and started the tale that he'd told many times over the last couple of years but which somehow never got any easier in the telling.

"It's about three years ago, now, or a little more. My brother's cabin got burnt down one night, him and most of his family died in the fire. I was working away then, up in Oregon, out of reach of letters. I didn't know about it 'til I got back to Colorado months later. Neighbours told me they saw the flames but by the time they got there the whole cabin was alight, nearly gone. They couldn't get near it. When they searched it the next morning, they found my brother and sister-in-law and three of their kids, all dead. They didn't find the youngest boy, though, there was no trace of him. They guessed he must have got out somehow and would have run off into the woods, scared. He was only three years old. Would have been terrified, poor kid.

"The neighbours started combing the woods, looking for him, but never found him. It was winter; even spending one night in the open might have been too much for a kid his age. They gave up after three days. Even if he'd got away from the fire unhurt, he would have been dead from the cold by then."

"But you think he may have survived?" Scott prompted.

"Well, it's just a bare chance," Dougal admitted, "but about that time there was an old man in the district, a drifter. He had a bunch of kids with him; orphans he was looking after, folks thought – no-one really knew for sure. Someone saw them camped in an old line shack in the woods a mile or so from my brother's place. They didn't stay there long – things started going missing from the farms round about and when the sheriff went looking for this old man to ask him some questions, they were gone. But I couldn't stop wondering if he might have seen the fire and found my brother's boy …" Dougal paused but before he could go on Jelly was jumping in, a smile of delight on his face.

"Toogie! That's who you remind me of! I said right from the start you put me in mind o' someone. Little Toogie, that's who it was!"

Dougal stared at the old man. In all the months he'd been searching this was the first time he'd heard anything definite. He hardly dared to let himself hope but he said, struggling to keep his voice calm:

"Dougie, that's his name. He was called Dougal after me, and we always shortened it to Dougie. You know him? Is…" Dougal's voice caught for a moment, in spite of himself, "is he alive?"

"He sure is. You can just set your mind to rest," Jelly assured him. "That was me back in Colorado, in my driftin' around days, me and my kids. I found little Toogie wanderin' in the woods. All I could get out of the poor little tyke was just that name, Toogie. Guess that was his way o' sayin' Dougie. His hair was all singed an' his clothes, too. I looked after him and there didn't seem to be anyone left on that farm when I went to see, so I just took him along when we moved on."

"And where is he now?" asked Dougal, leaning forward eagerly.

"Well, it was this way," Jelly explained. "By the time we got here I was thinkin' that it might be better for the boys if I was to find them steady homes where they could stay in the one place. They were needin' to go to school by then, see. I made the acquaintance of the Lancers and they helped me find good, caring families for all o' the boys. And it happened that Mr Lancer needed a top notch horse wrangler about that time, so I agreed to stay on here at Lancer.

"Now little Toogie, he's with Pete Barwell and his wife. Pete's the foreman at the Morgan ranch just outside o' Green River. Got a good house that goes with the job and there's two little girls of their own. Toogie's settled in real happy with them. We'll just go on out there tomorrow and you'll see him. He's going to be thrilled to bits to have an uncle."

Dougal put his head in his hands. Don't be a fool, he told himself, a grown man doesn't cry. But he found he was shaking. He hadn't realized until this sudden end to his search how the suspense had been telling on him – and how bad the emptiness of having no-one had been.

It was only a few moments then he pulled himself together. He looked up to see Teresa refilling his cup. There was a smile on her face and kindliness in her eyes as she laid her hand on his shoulder for an instant before she straightened up and moved away.

"Well, Jelly, it seems I was the one who owed you a favour all along," Dougal said to the beaming old man. "There's no doubt about it, Dougie would have died if you hadn't taken care of him. There's no way I can ever repay that but – thank you."

"Dougal, what do you think you'll do now – about Toogie, I mean?" Murdoch asked.

"What do you mean, Boss?" Jelly queried. "Dougal is Toogie's uncle. He'll have Toogie with him now, of course."

"I think what Murdoch means is that things might not be that simple, Jelly," Johnny answered him. "Toogie's been legally adopted. And besides, he's starting to think of the Barwells as his ma and pa. You said it yourself, he's settled and happy. Might not be the best thing to take him away from that."

"But his blood kin comes first," Jelly retorted. "You should know better than anyone, Johnny Lancer, how important kin is."

"Jelly's right," Scott put in. "Toogie has the right to know who his family is, and who he is. He has the right to know his real name; that's something he shouldn't be denied. As for the adoption, Dougal might be able to contest that. After all, he's Toogie's closest relative so that makes him Toogie's legal guardian. Since he didn't give his consent to the adoption, a court might overrule it."

"Oh, no, Scott," Murdoch protested. "Surely the worst thing would be to drag Toogie into a court case." The Lancer patrón looked strained.

"It needn't come to that, surely," Teresa put in quickly, with an anxious look at Murdoch. "Dougal wouldn't do anything to make Toogie unhappy, not after searching for him for so long. Anyway, here we're all barging in telling him what he should do. Hadn't we better let him have his say?" They all looked at Dougal, who shook his head worriedly.

"I just don't know," he frowned. "It's something I never considered. I've never thought beyond finding Dougie. But you're right, Mr Lancer, the last thing I ought to do is start any sort of legal battle. I can't think of anything worse for a kid. You say these are good people he's with?" he went on, "then we should be able to work something out. Some way to make sure he's happy."

"You and Jelly go see the Barwells tomorrow," Murdoch urged. "Talk it over with them. I know they'll want what's best for Toogie and so will you." He stood up. "I think I'll go to bed." Once again Johnny and Scott were at his side; this time he rested his hand on his elder son's shoulder. The rancher bade them all good night and he and Scott left the room.

Dougal watched as the father and son went out together."You're a close family," he remarked to Johnny.

"We weren't always," Johnny told him. Dougal looked at him in surprise. Johnny went on. "I know what it's like to be alone and I know how important family is. We all understand how you feel about finding Toogie again. We'll help you work things out, if we can." Johnny smiled and Dougal smiled back. He was a lucky man, he thought. He was about to find his nephew and it seemed he'd found some friends as well.

* * *

Dougal lay awake a long time after bedding down in the bunkhouse. He was tired out but had too much to think about for sleep to come. He had someone of his own blood left, after all – he wasn't alone any more. Little Dougie wasn't far away and he'd see him again tomorrow. He found himself breathing a prayer of thanks.

But as Johnny had said, it wasn't going to be that simple. Seemed he would have to make some decisions, and he lay there, turning things over his mind.

Finally, the fatigue of the day caught up with him and he slept. His last thought as he drifted off was of how Teresa had slipped into calling him Dougal, instead of Mr Renslo. It had sounded good.


	5. Chapter 5

Over breakfast the next morning the Lancer men planned out the day's work.

"First thing will be to send some men out to round up the horses," suggested Scott.

"Are all the hands back?" asked Murdoch.

"Most of them got back last night, except for Bobby and Miguel," Scott told him. "They celebrated a little too well, it seems, and ended up enjoying Gabe's official hospitality overnight. They'll be back later this morning, nursing bad heads and feeling sorry for themselves."

"And feelin' even sorrier when their bail comes out of their wages," Jelly put in.

Johnny grinned. "Just hope their night out was worth it. Jelly, you and I can start clearing off that burnt-out shed this morning. We'll see if there's anything we can salvage, not that it looks like there will be."

"Dougal and I will be goin' over to the Morgan ranch quick as we can," Jelly objected.

"No point going 'til later, Jelly," Johnny corrected him. "Toogie will be in school, remember? Best ride over after lunch; that'll give Dougal time to talk to the Barwells before Toogie gets home."

"I'll go along with you," Scott said to Dougal. Johnny looked at his brother, wondering why Scott wanted to go with Jelly and Dougal. He felt uneasy, remembering Scott's words the previous evening about overturning Toogie's adoption.

He hoped Scott wasn't going to urge Dougal into anything that surely could only be upsetting for Toogie. His first impulse was to go along as well but then he recalled Murdoch's bandaged eyes and the doctor's orders. One of the brothers would have to stay on the ranch to take care of things. All Johnny could do was to hope that Scott's good sense would keep him from interfering. And at least with Scott there Jelly might keep quiet long enough to let Dougal get a word in edgewise.

* * *

Dougal spent the morning working at clearing away the remains of the storage shed alongside Johnny and Jelly. It was straightforward labour that gave him plenty of time to think.

Jelly's words kept coming back to him: 'foreman of the Morgan ranch'; 'a good house that goes with the job'. What could he, Dougal, give to Dougie? All he owned was the few dollars in his pocket and no more belongings than his horse could carry. Not enough to vindicate taking a child out of a place where it was well provided for.

He'd have to start looking around, get a steady job himself, one that would let him make a home for Dougie. A proper home, not just a bachelor camp, a home with an aunt for Dougie as well as an uncle. He smiled as he realized where his thoughts were headed. He'd never given any thought to getting married before but then he'd never met any woman who had made an impact like Teresa. She was the kind of girl he wanted.

He could do it, he thought. Him and Teresa and Dougie, they could be a family. He'd find a place near Green River so Dougie could keep going to school and wouldn't have to leave the friends he'd made. Not far from the Lancers, either, and Jelly. The old man had looked after Dougie for close on three years, after all. He could be a sort of grandpa to Dougie. Everything a little boy needed, Dougal determined, he would give his nephew.

* * *

On the ride to Green River, it was Jelly who did most of the talking. Dougal had learned by now that that wasn't unusual and was quite content to listen as the old man chattered on about Dougie, or Toogie as he called him.

"Started school a month ago and just loves it. He's bright too, the brightest kid in his class. Why, he's readin' already, not the big words, mind you, but he soon will be. I reckon he's smart enough to go to Harvard one day, like Scott here."

"Jelly, you sound like a proud grandfather," Scott laughed.

"Well, Toogie was my kid for quite a while, remember, and him bein' the youngest, he was always kinda special," retorted Jelly.

"So you've kept in touch with all your boys, Jelly?" Dougal asked.

"I surely have. They're all good boys and none of them have forgotten old Jelly, nor me them neither," the wrangler declared proudly. "I took care of them while they were with me an' I made sure they were all going to good places when came the time for them to be adopted. Now, the Barwells, who Toogie's with," he went on, "they've got a real nice home. One of those houses the Spaniards built in their day. It's a little way off from the ranch house, a sort of a … what do you call it, Scott?"

"A dower house, I think you mean, Jelly," Scott supplied.

"That's it," acknowledged Jelly. "Not as big as the main house, o' course, but just as well built and furnished up real smart. And Pete gets a might good wage, bein' the foreman an' all, so there's no skimping in that house. Little Toogie's been well looked after, you needn't have any worries on that score."

Jelly meant to be reassuring but his words made the doubts start creeping back into Dougal's mind. A fine house and a foreman's wages – it would be a long time before he could do as well as that for Dougie. He was sombre as they rode onto the Morgan ranch.

Two men were standing beside the corral talking. They broke off and came over to meet the riders.

"Scott, Jelly, good to see you," the older of the two men welcomed them.

"Hello, Gene," Scott responded as he dismounted with cavalry briskness. "Pete, how are you?"

"Hey, Scott. Hey, Jelly," the second man added his greeting. Scott introduced Dougal.

"Gene, Pete, this is Dougal Renslo. Dougal, this is Gene Morgan, the owner of the ranch."

"How do you do, Mr Morgan," Dougal greeted the rancher.

"And this is Pete Barwell." Scott indicated the second man.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr Barwell." Dougal looked carefully at the man who was smiling a greeting in return. He liked what he saw. A little older than Dougal, Pete Barwell had the appearance of a man used to hard work but not roughened by it. More importantly, his expression was open and honest; a man whose word you would believe.

"Gene, we need to take up a little of your foreman's time, if that's alright with you," Scott addressed Gene Morgan. "There's something we need to talk over with him and Lydia."

"Fine, Scott. Nothing wrong, I hope?" Morgan queried.

"No, just something that's come up, to do with Toogie." Scott knew that Gene Morgan could be trusted.

"Well, come along and see Lydia," Pete Barwell invited them. He was frowning a little but still polite. Two vaqueros took the horses and Dougal, Scott and Jelly followed Pete to a house on the other side of the barns. Like the main ranch house, it was made of adobe, airy and spacious. Pete led the way into a large, well-furnished living room. The pretty woman seated in a chair by the window, sewing, looked up with a welcoming smile.

"Jelly!" she greeted the old man. "What a lovely surprise. And Scott. Sit down, I'll make some coffee. The girls are having their afternoon nap so we can have a grown-up visit before they wake up and Toogie gets home."

"Lydia, this is Dougal Renslo," Scott made the introduction.

"How do you do, Miz Barwell," Dougal smiled.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr Renslo," Lydia Barwell readily extended her welcome to include him. "Do sit down," she repeated the invitation, "I'll have coffee ready in a minute." With another smile she left the room, on hospitality intent.

"You said you needed to talk about Toogie," Pete addressed Scott when they were all seated and coffee had been poured. Lydia looked up, curious.

"Yes," Scott began but before he could say more, Jelly was speaking.

"It's real good news," the old wrangler rushed in. "Dougal here is Toogie's uncle. He's been lookin' for the little feller for more'n two years and he's finally found him. Now ain't that good news for Toogie, havin' blood kin of his own?" Jelly was beaming and Scott felt an urgent desire to strangle him. Lydia Barwell looked stunned, while her husband stiffened and seemed to be searching for words. Dougal stepped in.

"Jelly's been telling me how well you've looked after Dougie; how happy he is with you. And I can see what a good home he has." He glanced around the well-appointed room.

"Of course he's happy here, he's our little boy," Lydia declared, her voice half bewildered, half tinged with fear.

"Lydia," Pete put his hand on her shoulder. "Mr Renslo," he turned to Dougal, "you say Toogie is your nephew?"

"Yes, that's right, he's my brother's boy," Dougal told him.

"And his parents? Where are they?" Pete demanded.

"Well, it's this way, Pete," Jelly jumped in again but this time Scott was on the alert and snapped an order that even Jelly couldn't ignore.

"Jelly, shut up! Let Dougal explain. Pete and Lydia are entitled to hear the story from him. Dougal, go on."

Dougal nodded and, looking directly at Pete and Lydia, told his story in a steady voice that was only belied by the pain that crossed his face as he spoke of his brother's family. When he finished, there was silence for a moment, then Pete spoke.

"That was a terrible tragedy. I'm sorry. And so Toogie – Dougie, you call him? – is your only living relative now." He paused then asked, "Will you be taking him away?"

"I want to have him with me," Dougal replied. Pete closed his eyes for a moment and when he spoke again his voice was strained.

"You have first right to him, I suppose."

"No, how could he?" Lydia interjected. "We adopted Toogie. That means he's ours, doesn't it?" She looked over at Scott in appeal. Scott shook his head.

"Dougal was Toogie's legal guardian at the time, even though we didn't know it, and his consent wasn't given. I think that would make the adoption invalid."

"We have to do what's right, Lydia," Pete stated. His voice was steady but his grim expression betrayed what he was feeling.

"Lydia, you have to think about Toogie," Scott urged. "He has the right to know who he is and to know his uncle. And to know the name he was born with. That's something everyone ought to know."

"Yes, I suppose that's true," Lydia conceded. She looked over at Dougal. "It must have been terrible, all that time, not knowing if your nephew was dead or alive. Of course you want him now." She went on, speaking to Dougal but as if trying to convince herself. "Pete and I are so lucky. We have our little girls and you have no-one. Really it's only fair…" her voice choked. "Excuse me, I think the girls are awake." She hurried out of the room.

The silence hung heavy in the air for a moment then Jelly said,

"Now, Pete, you've got to understand…"

"I understand, Jelly," Pete interrupted him. He looked across at Dougal. "How could anyone not understand? If I was in your position I'd do exactly the same thing. It won't be easy, though, especially for Lydia." He paused, then went on. "She had a hard time when our twin girls were born," he explained. "The doc says most likely there won't be any more children. And we lost our own boy in that typhoid outbreak a couple of years ago. When Toogie came, it was like our family was complete again. But Scott's right, we have to think of Toogie first."

"He'll be home from school soon, won't he?" Jelly asked.

"Any minute now," confirmed Pete. "There a few kids on the ranch who go to the school," he explained to Dougal. "They ride there and back, two kids on each pony, a little one with an older one for safety. Toogie loves riding," he added. "He's going to be a fine horseman when he grows up…" the fatherly bragging stopped and a shadow flitted across his face. Just then Lydia came back, holding the hands of two little girls about four years old, evidently twins by their age, although not identical. When they caught sight of Jelly they let go their mother's hands and rushed across the room, chattering and giggling.

"Jelly, Toogie caught a rabbit and gave it to us to keep."

"It's brown and white and we call it Hops, 'cause it hops."

"And Mama's teaching us lots of sewing stitches and we're going to make you handkerchiefs."

"And we'll give them to you for Christmas but we won't tell you until then."

"Well, now, that'll be a fine surprise for me," Jelly beamed. "Dougal, this is Mamie and this is Eliza."

"How do you do, Miss Mamie, Miss Eliza," Dougal responded solemnly. He thought of his two nieces – they had clambered all over him just like these little girls were doing with Jelly. The girls gave him two pretty "Hellos" then their attention was distracted by something they spotted through the window.

"Toogie's home!" Mamie shrieked.

"Toogie!" Eliza echoed.

Dougal drew in a sharp breath. Now that the moment was here, he was almost frightened. Would this boy be like the tiny child he remembered? Would he be like Ewan? He realized his hands were clenched and forced himself to relax.

Pete Barwell stood up, as if bracing himself for an ordeal.

"Don't tell him who I am just yet," Dougal said. Pete looked at him sharply. "Ler's just take things steady," Dougal added, not even sure himself why he was hesitating. Scott frowned but said nothing as Toogie came into the room and like the two girls, dashed straight over to Jelly.

"Jelly, I learned four new reading words today. And a funny squiggle that goes at the end to make a question."

"That's real fine, Toogie," Jelly said proudly. He looked over at Dougal. "I told you he was bright, didn't I?" Toogie noticed the other visitors for the first time.

"Hello, Scott. Where's Johnny? I want to tell him about the rabbit I caught."

"Hello, Toogie," Scott smiled at the little boy. "Johnny's taking care of things at Lancer, but I'll let him know the rabbit trap is working. And Toogie," Scott looked over at the boy's uncle, "I want you to meet a friend of mine. His name's Dougal." Scott was startled as he heard himself say the words. He didn't know where they had come from but they touched a chord somehow. There was no time to think about it now, though. He watched anxiously as Toogie put out his hand with a polite, "How do you do?"

Dougal took his nephew's hand. "Hello, Toogie," he said. He didn't trust himself to say anything more. He looked into the little boy's face. Yes, he could see the child he remembered. He could see his brother as well, and such a strong resemblance to his older nephew, Dougie's own brother, that he almost called him Will. But no, Will had had Betsy's blue eyes; Dougie had brown eyes, like Ewan and like Dougal himself. This was his namesake; this was little Dougie.

Lydia Barwell saw an uncle and nephew side by side, the resemblance undeniable. No-one could doubt that those two were related. She looked across at her husband and knew that he had seen it, too. She bit her lip and wondered how long it would be before their son was taken away from them.

"Mama?" Eliza's voice brought Lydia back to moment and to the immediate needs of her children.

"Toogie, you go wash your hands," she directed. "You and the girls can have your milk in here today, as we have guests."

"Yes, Ma." Toogie scampered off obediently. A few minutes later the three children had glasses of milk in front of them and were demonstrating their healthy appetites in the devouring of a plateful of cookies.

Dougal sat and watched his nephew, listening as the little boy told Jelly and Scott of all his adventures in school and on the ranch that was his home now. He was still young enough for catching a rabbit to be an adventure and learning punctuation to be exciting. Dougal was content to simply listen, and learn about this boy who was all he had in the world. It was the happiest he'd been for more than three years.

When the cookies and milk had been properly disposed of, Pete shooed the kids outside.

"You go out and play for a while now," he ordered. Toogie took a hand of each of the little girls.

"Come on, we have to feed Hops," he told them. "He's our resper… respi…"

"Responsibility," Dougal supplied, saying the word slowly.

"Respons..ibil..ity," Toogie sounded out, a smile lighting up his face as he managed the word. "Thank you." He looked up at Dougal.

"You're welcome," smiled Dougal. For a moment the eyes of the uncle and nephew met, then Toogie turned and led his little sisters out.

"Well?" Pete asked Dougal. "I suppose you want to take him with you?" His rigid stance showed his tension as he waited for the answer. But Dougal only shook his head worriedly.

"I don't know. I want to do what's best for Dougie but I'm just not sure what that is."

"Being with his kin is best for him," Jelly asserted.

"I don't know, Jelly," Dougal repeated. "He's happy here and I don't have any home to give him yet."

"Dougal, you're his uncle, a blood relation. That's the thing that counts most," Scott put in.

"That's important, Scott, but maybe it's not everything. Anyhow, it's not a decision to rush." He turned to Pete Barwell. "I'll think it over tonight and let you know tomorrow what I decide." Pete nodded. "Alright," he agreed. Lydia moved to his side but didn't say a word.

As the three men retrieved their horses from the corral and mounted up, Toogie ran over to say goodbye, the little girls scampering behind.

"Keep back, away from the horses," he told them firmly. "Don't want you to get hurt."

"He looks after those little girls, doesn't he?" Dougal remarked to Jelly as they rode away.

"He sure does," Jelly affirmed. "He's mighty proud of bein' a big brother."

Dougal turned in the saddle and looked back. Dougie and his adopted sisters had gone back to their game. As Dougal watched the three happy children, he saw Pete Barwell standing with his arm around his wife's shoulders. They were watching the children too.


	6. Chapter 6

Johnny cornered Scott in the stable, rubbing Remmie down. Scott was always meticulous in the care of his horse – Johnny had once teased him that he tended his horses as if his life depended on it, to which Scott had soberly responded that during the war, it had – but this evening Remmie was being groomed with a vigour that threatened to wear his coat thin. It was easy to see something was eating at his brother.

"How did things go out at the Morgan ranch?" Johnny asked.

"I'm afraid Dougal's thinking of leaving Toogie with the Barwells," Scott told him.

"Well, wouldn't that be the best for Toogie?" responded Johnny.

"What, for him never to know his own family? His own name? How could you say that, Johnny?" Scott challenged, almost with anger in his voice.

"Because I know what it's like to be dragged around from place to place, one town to another," his brother declared. "Never anything familiar because you never stay long enough to get to know anything, not places, not people. Only one person you really know, only one to call your own. Even if that person is your blood kin, it's not enough, Scott. And if you lose that person, you're all alone…" Johnny's voice faltered, then he steadied himself and went on. "Scott, you keep saying it's important for Toogie to know his name. Why do you think that matters so much?"

Scott took a moment to answer. "I suppose it's because I didn't know my name until I was twelve years old," he said finally. "I was brought up as Scott Garrett and never questioned that. My grandfather never mentioned either of my parents and I assumed they were both dead. It was only when I met a friend of Murdoch's, a man named James Harper, at my tutor's home that I found out my father was living in California and that my name was Lancer.

"It was a shock, discovering I wasn't who I thought I was. Pretty devastating, too, that Grandfather had – well, not lied, I suppose, but hadn't told me the whole truth. He meant it for the best, of course. He wanted to shield me from knowing that my father wanted nothing to do with me." He paused. "It's not something you would ever have thought about, Johnny. I know you grew up without a lot of things but at least you always knew who you were, always knew your name was Lancer."

Johnny's response surprised his brother. "No, I didn't," he said. "I never heard the name Lancer until I was about ten or eleven. I knew I had a gringo father, that was all. Mama never talked about him until one day someone mentioned Murdoch Lancer. We were in a store in Tucson and a man was talking to the storekeeper about a horse he'd bought from Murdoch. Mama got real upset and dragged me out of the store. She was crying. She got hold of some liquor that night, got drunk and told me about my father, told me how he'd thrown us both out.

"I wasn't even certain if she'd been married to him or not. She didn't say either way. I guess I always had thought I was born out of wedlock – that's what everyone assumes about a mestizo. She always told people that she was married but I didn't know if it was true or if she was just trying to seem respectable. She never wore a wedding ring that I remember; don't know whether she sold it or threw it away. And she never called herself Lancer, we were always Madrid. So I never knew for sure until that first day here when Murdoch said they got married, like it was something taken for granted. Even then, I didn't know if I should believe him."

He gave a wry smile. "The morning we went to the lawyer's in Morro Coyo to sign the partnership deeds, I snuck a look in the Bible in the library and saw it written down there and my birth as John Lancer. Had to believe it then, but it still took some getting used to." He paused then added, "Not having my father's name didn't bother me when I was growing up. Around the border towns it wouldn't have made much difference anyway whether I was a right-born mestizo or a bastard mestizo.

"I'm proud to be a Lancer now but if I had to choose between a name and a home for a kid, I'd choose the home."

Sounds like you were cheated out of both, little brother, thought Scott, but he didn't say it out loud. He would never criticize Johnny's mother – he didn't think of her as his own stepmother. He knew that Johnny had loved her and knew, too, that his brother's disillusionment must be deep enough without any words from himself.

So now he just said, "You're right, a child needs a settled home, but we can help Dougal make a home for Toogie. And you do know blood is important, Johnny. You got Wilf Guthrie to take Alice back because she needed to be with her own family, her uncle. This is the same."

Johnny shook his head. "No, Scott, it's not the same. Alice knew Wilf, had grown up knowing him as family. Did Toogie know Dougal when he saw him?"

"No," Scott admitted. "Toogie must have been too young when he last saw Dougal to remember him now."

"So Toogie would be starting all over again with a stranger if Dougal took him away. I just can't see it being right, Scott. If a kid's happy, why risk changing that?" Scott heard the vehemence in his brother's voice and relented.

"There's not much point in you and me talking about it, anyway," he declared. "It's up to Dougal to decide what to do. All we can do is help him – and Toogie – as much as we can."

* * *

Supper that night was at the long dining table.

"We were at sixes and sevens yesterday," Murdoch Lancer said to Dougal. "We're getting back to normal, now."

Dougal looked at the damask tablecloth and the fine china and glassware as Maria served the meal. So this was normal for the Lancer family, he thought. He hadn't realised until earlier in the evening that they had help in the house. Maria and Juanita, it appeared, had been away for a few days helping at the wedding of Juanita's cousin. Now they waited on the table. Teresa, in a silk dress, was seated on Murdoch's right. She looked a far cry from the ranch girl of the last couple of days.

Scott poured the wine and he and his father entered into a discussion about it, comparing it with one they'd had a few nights before. They seemed to use a lot of French words. Dougal had heard French spoken when he was working in Louisiana but he suspected the few words he'd picked up on the New Orleans wharves wouldn't be suitable for the dinner table. Johnny chipped in with a story about his visit to the family who owned the vineyard and Teresa added a few words about the daughter of the family, whom she'd known at school in Sacramento. The talk drifted onto other people the Lancers knew: owners of large ranches, a railroad president – seemed Mr Lancer was even acquainted with the Lieutenant Governor. They weren't bragging either, that's what struck Dougal, they were just having an ordinary talk about – for them – ordinary people.

When the meal was finished they rose from the table and moved to the sofa and armchairs around the fireplace. Dougal noticed Scott hold Teresa's chair with a courtesy that seemed to come as a matter of course. That was the sort of man Teresa was used to – a cattle baron's son with polished manners. Jelly had mentioned that Scott had gone to Harvard. Johnny would have gone to a good school too, Dougal supposed, although he didn't have Scott's Eastern way of speaking. Dougal had never gone to school; his mother had taught him and Ewan to read and write at home, that was all.

Juanita brought coffee in and Johnny poured brandies for the men.

"I'm a tequila man myself," he told Dougal with a grin as he handed him a glass, "but Scott and Murdoch are doing their best to drag my standards up."

"I've had some mighty fine tequila down in Mexico, myself," Dougal replied, "but this looks pretty good." It was, too, certainly compared to his only other taste of brandy, some strange stuff served up in a dive of a bar in Baton Rouge.

"Dougal, Jelly tells me that you didn't let Toogie know who you were today," Murdoch Lancer began. Jelly had told him a lot more; the whole story of the visit, with indignant amazement at Dougal for not making immediate claim to his nephew. Murdoch's heart ached for the young man.

"That's right, Mr Lancer," Dougal replied. "I didn't want to unsettle him when I wasn't sure yet what I should do."

"What's there not to be sure about?" Jelly snorted. "Seems to me you're fussin' way too much, Dougal. You're Toogie's closest kin and he belongs with you. Nothin' hard to be sure on about that."

"I have to think about what I can give Dougie, Jelly. He's got everything a kid needs, right where he is," Dougal summed up the doubt that was twisting him.

"Almost everything," Scott interposed. "His name and family are what you can give him, Dougal – don't underestimate that."

"Dougal, what do you think your brother would have wanted?" Murdoch asked.

Dougal looked across at him. The bandage across the older man's eyes made his expression hard to read but his voice held an empathy that touched a chord. And perhaps his words held the key to finding the right answer – the right thing to do for Dougie.

"That's it, Mr Lancer. That's what I really have to figure out, isn't it?" Dougal spoke slowly but felt as if his burden was lifting.

"It's an obligation you owe to Toogie, above everything else – to stand in place of his parents and to follow, as far as you can, what you believe their wishes would be," Murdoch gave his advice. "If you do that, then you'll have done right, whichever way you decide."

* * *

Dougal woke early the next morning. It was still well before sun-up and the other men in the bunkhouse were sleeping soundly but moonlight was streaming through the window. Dougal dressed quietly and slipped out of the building.

The crisp cool air and the silence seemed to help his thoughts run clearly.

Teresa – he'd been a fool, he faced it. He'd first seen her as a girl working on a ranch but she was a lady, a daughter for all intents and purposes of a wealthy house. When she married, if it wasn't to one of the Lancer sons it would be to someone like them, a son of one of the wealthy Central Valley cattle barons or maybe a professional man, educated and moving in the best circles.

He looked across at the elegant hacienda that Teresa knew as her home. That was what she was used to and even if he had a chance, it wouldn't be fair to try to win her, then offer the little he could in exchange for all she would have to leave.

And Dougie? Should he take him away from the home where he was happy? His nephew had lost one family already; how could Dougal make him lose another? That would be no act of love. In the clear light of the dawn, Dougal knew what his decision had to be. He would give Dougie the gift of an undisturbed life with his new family. He felt, deep down, that that was what Ewan and Betsy would have wanted for their boy.

* * *

"I'll be moving on today," Dougal announced as he sat at breakfast with the Lancers. Scott drew in a sharp breath and was about to speak but Johnny got the question in first.

"What about Toogie?"

"I'm going to leave him with the Barwells," Dougal replied. "The little feller has a home and a family. It'd only make him unhappy if he had to leave all that and tag along with someone he don't even remember. Best he stays where he is." Dougal hoped he was keeping his voice steady.

"It's a good decision, Dougal," Johnny assured him. "A little kid like Toogie, staying where he's happy is best; you're right."

"Would you let Pete Barwell know for me, Johnny?" Dougal asked. "I think it's better if I don't go there myself again," he added soberly.

"I'll ride over today," Johnny promised.

"You don't have to go away, Dougal," Scott put in. "Even if you leave Toogie with the Barwells, you could stay nearby, be close to him. You can have a job here on Lancer or we can help you find work closer to Green River, if you like."

Dougal shook his head. "No, it wouldn't be fair on the Barwells. They'd always be wondering if one day I'd change my mind, or if folks would find out who I am and start gossiping. Wouldn't be right to do that to a family.

"There's one thing I thought of, though… " he hesitated, looking towards Scott and Murdoch. "I was thinking maybe I could write a letter for Dougie, for him to read when he gets older. Tell him all about his own ma and pa, and his brother and sisters and our family. I could leave it with Pete Barwell to give to him when he grows up. What do you think?"

"Dougal, I think that's an excellent idea," Murdoch responded. "It will give Toogie the knowledge of who he is when he needs to know it – when it can be a blessing, not a worry.

"You can trust Pete Barwell to give the letter to Toogie when the time is right," he added. "You go write it now; you can use my desk. Johnny will take it with him and give it to Pete. Scott," he directed, rising from the table, "help me out to the verandah. I'd like some fresh air. I promise to sit quietly, like the doctor ordered!" he assured his family with a smile.

Murdoch's hand on Scott's shoulder, the two men went outside to the bench on the shady verandah. For a few minutes the father and son sat in silence, each with their own thoughts, then Scott asked abruptly, "Is he making the right decision, Murdoch?"

Murdoch knew he meant Dougal, and knew he meant more than Dougal.

"How can any of us know whether it will turn out right or wrong? He can only do what he thinks is best," Murdoch replied.

"And is it best? Do you really think it will good for Toogie in the long run?" demanded Scott.

"For Toogie, it will be good in some ways, bad in others," his father answered. "Dougal's just hoping that the bad will be outweighed by the good and he's doing what he thinks he must to make that happen. I hope it turns out to be right for Toogie but I don't know. There's only one thing I know for certain." He paused and Scott waited.

"For Dougal himself, it's the worst decision he could have made."

Scott felt ashamed. All along, he realised, he'd been thinking only of Toogie, because he thought only of how he himself felt at the way Murdoch had abandoned him. Never a thought had he given to how this must be tearing Dougal apart – and how little thought had he ever really given to the impact that abandonment must have had on Murdoch?

Even after coming to know Murdoch and forming a bond of both affection and respect, he'd still believed that in those early years Murdoch Lancer had been indifferent to his son, uncaring. Now, hearing his father's words, he wondered if that idea was wrong. Had Murdoch cared? Had he suffered in those years? Was that feeling for his sons that would make him worry if they were late getting back from a cattle drive no newly-come thing but a love that had been there all the time?

And just as Dougal had his reasons now for leaving Toogie, had Murdoch had reasons for leaving Scott in Boston, without a word or sign for so long?

What was he thinking? Of course this man whom he'd come not just to love but to respect and admire must have had reasons, and good ones, for the decision he had made. Perhaps it was time for Scott to start trusting that, whatever those reasons might have been, Murdoch had intended only the best for his elder son.

And Dougal?

"Maybe Dougal will come back some day, when Toogie's grown up," Scott suggested. "It wouldn't be too late then, would it?"

"I hope he does, Scott," Murdoch replied, "because you're right – for some things, as I've learned, it's never too late."

* * *

Pete Barwell watched as Johnny rode onto the Morgan ranch. He'd been watching all morning, waiting for someone from Lancer to come with news. But the younger Lancer boy was smiling as he jumped off his horse.

"Hey, Pete," he called. "I got a message for you…"

When Johnny had gone, Pete put Dougal's letter carefully in the deed box, then went to the door and looked out at his children playing in the yard.

"Toogie!" he called. The boy came scampering up. "Yes, Pa?" Pete looked down at the child who was now his own.

"I've been thinking, son. You're getting to be a big boy now. You've got responsibilities, helping me look after your ma and your sisters. It's time you had a man's name. Toogie was alright when you were just a little boy but now you're older, I think we'll call you Dougal."

Toogie looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, "Dougal. I like that. It's a good name, isn't it?"

"Yes, son," his father smiled. "It's a good name for a good man."

* * *

Dougal bade farewell to Murdoch Lancer as the rancher sat in an armchair in the Great Room.

"There'll always be a welcome for you here on Lancer, Dougal," Murdoch assured him.

"Thank you, Mr Lancer, that means a lot," Dougal replied. A welcome in a place such as Lancer, and from a man such as Murdoch, was something to value, he thought, even if he was never able to come back.

Scott and Teresa went out with him to the corral where his horse was saddled and ready. Jelly was waiting there too, to bid Dougal goodbye.

"Why not change your mind and stay? There's always a place for a good man on Lancer," Scott urged again. Dougal shook his head.

"No, it would be too hard, being so close to what I can't have. Best if I move on."

"Well, you just remember you've got a friend in Jellifer B. Hoskins if ever you need one," Jelly declared.

"That goes for all of us, Mr Renslo," Teresa added, smiling.

"Thank you, Miss Teresa, that's good to know," Dougal smiled back.

He looked into her eyes for a moment. No, it would be far too hard, staying so close to what he knew he could never have. He mounted his horse and with a final wave, rode off.

Scott and Jelly watched him out of sight, then turned to get on with the day's work. Teresa stayed still, gazing in the direction Dougal had gone.

"Teresa?" Scott spoke to her. "Anything wrong?"

"What?" Teresa looked round at him. "Oh, no, I was just thinking… it's a pity he didn't stay… he would have been a nice friend to have… I must go feed the chickens," she added hurriedly and moved off, quickening her pace as she went.

"Them chickens was fed not more'n two hours ago," Jelly declared as he watched her heading around the corner of the barn. "Strange notions women take, sometimes."

* * *

As he reached the white arch at the entrance to the ranch, Dougal turned in the saddle and looked back for a moment. But that was pointless, he knew, looking back always was. He faced forward again and urged his horse on, through the arch and along the road.

Here, he'd just been passing through but somewhere ahead, maybe, there was the place where he could put down those roots of his own.


End file.
